Not me
by Vagabond Dreamer
Summary: Ron's thoughts as he loses his love to another. Some SeverusHermione. Introspective angst


Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me. I'm borrowing the characters from J.K. Rowling to have a little fun.  
  
  
  
I love her. She invades my thoughts, my dreams. Her visage, behind my eyelids, accompanies me to sleep each night. I cannot look at any other woman without comparing them to her perfection. She was always brilliant, now she has matured into an impossibly beautiful woman. But, to me she was always beautiful. Since 4th year, when I finally realized she was female. But I couldn't have her then. She had Viktor, her knight in shining armor. I know she was flattered by his attentions, because to everyone else she was just brilliant, bookwormish, Granger, Gryffindor, member of the illustrious trio, but to him she was a woman, as captivating as a Veela, a flower slowly coming to full bloom. He carefully watered her, metaphorically, for he wanted to show her loveliness to the world and be there to receive the applause.  
  
But she never loved him. She tricked herself into thinking that she did, that admiration was something more, although there was always a nagging doubt at the back of her mind. Their split was mutual. Viktor was being pressured by his parents to focus more on Quidditch, and Hermione, well Hermione needed the room to grow wings and fly. During sixth year, she was a prefect, and became the youngest member of the Order of the Phoenix, which defeated Voldemort during "The Battle of Hogwarts," as it was later called. The Dark Lord attacked Hogwarts, expecting Dumbledore to be caught unawares, but the Headmaster had a valuable spy, in fact the very same spy Voldemort depended on. Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater and surly Potions Master extraordinaire. The battle was almost over before it began.  
  
That was when Hermione first noticed Him. She noticed his sallow skin and lank hair ("it gives him character," she said), his billowing black robes swirling like a vampire's ("dramatic effect"), and his personality-a git ("Honestly, Ron, you're a git!"). According to her she noticed his dark, intriguing manner, his artist's hands and long tapered fingers, his passionate nature simmering beneath his steely exterior, rather like Veritaserum brewed correctly. He saw her as a complex logic puzzle, one that he could never fully solve, but would die in the attempt, a luscious rose blooming in front of his eyes, and his equal in intelligence and passion. They had a mutual attraction for each other sixth year, but seventh year the dam broke. They embarked upon a secret relationship, but I knew, just as I had always known anything concerning her.  
  
She is sitting with him now, across from me at the Leaving Feast. They are not whispering sweet nothings to each other, like other lovers around them, nor exchanging sickeningly sweet glances but simply reveling in being alive; being with the person you love with your whole heart. That's what I should have had with her. She never saw me though. I was always freckles and red hair, best friend, like a brother, bumbling idiot that couldn't express his emotions, always overreacting, who saw her as a bird taking flight and didn't have enough courage to fly with her. Gryffindor indeed. Nothing like Snape. Slytherin scum.  
  
I stand up and walk out of the hall, the eyes in the room following me, some with mockery, others with unspoken pity. I hear a derisive snort. Malfoy, perhaps. Hermione gets up to follow me, but Snape puts a hand on her arm with the soft whisper "He needs time." Will wonders never cease? Never did I think Severus Snape could understand me. I push open the massive front doors and walk into the much-needed fresh air. The night is warm, the darkness so thick it could almost be touched. I sit down by the lake and taking off my shoes, put my feet in the cool water. The lazy tentacles of the giant squid caress them. Why? Why not me? Was I not good enough for her? Why am I doomed to love her, while she bestows her affections on a more worthy recipient? Unanswerable questions swirl and dance about my head. I will purge myself of her, her essence, her life, in time. But I will never be able to forget her, my first love. Her jasmine scent that drives me wild with desire, her cinnamon curls I yearn to run my fingers through, her wide smile when she turns to see…Severus. I cannot begrudge him this most precious of gifts, although it hurts me beyond reason. She deserves someone who understands her, loves her, yet can live with her or without her. Him. Not me. 


End file.
